


The Bastard Twins of Seleny

by Nebulad



Series: Run With the Hare || Hunt With the Hounds [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Siblings, canon-divergent, companion trevelyans, non-inquisitor trevelyans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Brother?”</p><p>
  <i>Maldición.</i>
</p><p>He tried not to react, to see if Vana was stupid enough to simply… believe she made a mistake. Saw another man that looked strikingly similar to her twin brother— <i>carajo,</i> there was no way this was going to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bastard Twins of Seleny

Jarev Gartop would arrive by sea, which seemed an odd choice for a dwarf. It was none of Theros’ business though— his concern was solely with escorting the woman to Tanner, who was predictably an Antivan tanner who would pay good money for smuggled bronto hide. Of course they were ridiculous cowards who would do the whole operation in the dead of night, as all amateurs did, but it was no skin off Theros’ nose if he had to bail out. Being amateurs, they would have no goons.

The chill of the desert was especially pronounced around the rickety port— not the beautiful waterfront of Antiva City, but a backwater dock south of Bastion that was hardly official. Certainly it was a convenient stop, and easier to reach than the grand port, but everything was wooden and the air tasted so thickly of salt that his hand kept reaching for the skin of water at his hip without thinking. Unwilling to pay the exorbitant refill fee of the inn he was slumming in, he crossed his arms over his chest and swallowed instead. Jarev would arrive around midnight on _La Princesa_ barring any unforeseen circumstances; Theros would bail an hour later, should the dwarf not show.

Boats sailed in and out, ignoring him perched on a pile of boxes filled with Orlesian clothes. Large passenger ships carrying nobility returning from and headed towards vacation destinations were docked for barely an hour, concerned about their hasty use of this rickety wooden mess. Certainly one day the city would realise the business they lost by allowing the port to stay open separately from the official one, and they would storm the docks and take over. The wood would be torn down and replaced with stone, the flea-bitten inns would be replaced with merchant retreats fit for the princes, and Theros would take his business elsewhere and save money on water skins.

“Brother?”

_Maldición._

He tried not to react, to see if Vana was stupid enough to simply… believe she made a mistake. Saw another man that looked strikingly similar to her twin brother— _carajo,_ there was no way this was going to work. Captain Vana Marisol Trevelyan de Seleny was striding towards him with her stupid boots clicking against the dock while she effortlessly slid through the crowd like she was water in the ocean she was so bloody fond of that she couldn’t stand to stay in Antiva like a normal person.

Theros hopped off the boxes and started to rush in the opposite direction. To hell with Jarev and Tanner— neither of them were paying him enough to deal with his sister, to hear the lectures about his threadbare jacket and how he hadn’t written mother in months and how the precious princess, Lady Marcela (the young heiress whose birth had ensured that neither of the twins would be anything but footnotes in the family tree, bastards as far as anyone who was anyone was concerned), had been asking after his health because she was ten goddamn years old and had been instructed to ask after her older siblings.

“ _Theros.”_ The captain had no fucking _volume_ control— or she did and simply no sense of subtlety. The latter was probably closer to the truth of it, with her stupid jacket and low collar as she shoved by heavy handed dockers to try and catch up with him. _“Theros Nico Trevelyan de Seleny,”_ she shouted (Maker she was so angry her voice cracked), and as seven people froze to look at him like they’d suddenly found a city guard, he stopped.

She grabbed his shabby jacket hard enough to tear a seam and spun him around to face her. “Dear sister,” he said flatly, spreading his arms.

“Don’t you _dear sister_ me you rat bastard,” she hissed, proving his theory about her making a scene on purpose. “Where have you been? Mother hasn’t seen you for months—”

“You know I hate Ostwick,” he said, pushing back his hair. It was getting long again and he was endlessly tempted to shave it all off. Vanity stopped him.

“You hate Ostwick and so you leave letters from Lady Marcela in cities you abandon—”

“ _Mierda_ sister, she’s ten. She prefers to receive the apologies of innkeepers,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes because no doubt he would be flogged by the great captain before the assembled.

“She _prefers_ to tell people that her older brother is a degenerate. She has a thousand stories about you, some that I fear are true simply because it _sounds_ like you,” she snapped. The crowd around them backed up, but not so far that they couldn’t hear them fight. Vultures.

“And what exactly do you know about what I sound like?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “Have I done something so noteworthy that you’ve heard it on the wind? Received a bird?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. You’re so desperate for approval that you would do anything you’re told,” she snapped. “What else would you be doing at this sleazy port so late at night?”

“What are _you_ doing here? So far from the _proper_ Bastion docks?” he asked mockingly. “You may have written but I guarantee you haven’t _seen_ mother or Marcela for months. You run away from your family, oceans away so they can’t find you.”

She was silent for all of a minute but the look on her face made him feel less comfortable in his small victory over her. “It’s called a bloody _job_ Theros, _maybe you should get one!”_ she shouted. The crowd tittered and something distinctly and terribly _Vana_ rose up in his gut. His sister hated being laughed at and he was loathe to admit similarity to her but…

He gritted his teeth. “Call it what you like but I am _not_ wrong about you.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” she hissed.

“And yet you have managed to puzzle me out? Simply because I am not so desperate as you to impress our _dearest father,_ I am suddenly a degenerate? I work to put coin in my pocket, I am not a drain upon our parents— and yet _still_ I am being chased down in public and denounced for a criminal!” The smuggling was besides the point. It was hardly how he made his living, and he’d been doing it as a favour to Tanner _for_ the work she’d given him, fool as she was. It was harmless, to dodge the imposing taxes of Bastion on the trade of furs and hides.

Of course, the captain would have him thrown in the brig or something equally stupid and having to do with her foolish ship, a stupid pipsqueak schooner named _La Colibrí._ She was proud of the ship as she was of herself as he was certain mother was of her. Between her two daughters, she would hardly remember that she had a son, so why remind her? The elf-blooded one, same as his sister and yet somehow more disappointing as he _yearned_ for the People. The elves, or dwarves, or qunari, or the Avaar— _anyone,_ anyone who wouldn’t give him the look his sister was giving him right then.

“You think you know _everything_ Theros,” she hissed, straightening her back. “You think you know me because I don’t seem to share this… this _angst_ that you won’t let go of? You are a fucking _child,_ irresponsible and sulking—”

And then something extraordinary happened. For a moment Theros thought that the Maker had blessed him with distraction enough to slip away from the lecture he’d never asked for, so he could return to the inn and be gone before Vana thought to search for him. Perhaps someone had dropped their cargo— someone who had not stopped to watch the spectacle of the Trevelyan de Seleny twins fighting in the street like rival fishmongers— or a clap of thunder that turned everyone’s heads.

It broke the eye contact between him and Vana, both of them looking briefly towards the sound. Some rogues they were, to be so distracted, but perhaps the Maker would forgive them for their misstep. A sickly green explosion broke open to the southwest, extending skeletal hands down the velvet blue sky to grab greedily at the ground. There was a chorus of gasps, then a hush fell over the crowd.

The wound continued to roar in the sky, with green flames shooting from it like stars and Theros… felt something. Something stirred deep in his blood— the blood of his father, the Dalish hunter that his mother kept so tight lipped about, as if her grand romance had never happened (all for _them_ she said, for him and Vana and Marcela).

“It’s the Fade,” Vana whispered, her blood no doubt stirring beside his (though it had to melt first). “Demons are falling from…” She trailed off and he was glad of it, in case some fool of a dockhand was still listening to them. The… thing, whatever it was, sounded like a distant thunderstorm, so far away and yet uncomfortably close. Close enough to see it.

He looked at his sister, who was already eyeing him warily. “Truce?” he offered, holding out his hand to shake. They didn’t have to like each other— _mierda_ they didn’t even have to speak, but whatever it was… it would not reach Ostwick. Marcela would have to settle with watching it from afar, because this thing would never find her there.

“We’ll take _La Colibrí,”_ she said, turning on her heel and stomping back towards her ship. The crowd parted for them silently, and Theros followed heavily behind her.

Boats made him seasick. Not that she’d ever asked.

**Author's Note:**

> All right so first off, like I mention in all my Zevran fics, Spanish is not on the list of languages I speak. I can't even fake it like I can French, so any words you see are entirely Google + Prayer. This fic has the bonus of me building actual Antivan characters and so I looked into Spanish naming conventions and read a lot of stuff that I'm not willing to bet money that I understood. If you're certain I did something wrong, hit me up and I'll fix it because this was more Google + Prayer. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) for more quick and easy ways to tell me off/shower me with praise depending on what I've done this time.
> 
> I work eight hours in the morning at my thrilling cashier job, so I won't be mad if you wanted to do the praise thing.


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